


Of Post-it Notes

by AnonAnton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Blasphemy, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Coda, Dean's Confession, Dean's Journal, Domestic, Episode: s11e03 The Bad Seed, Episode: s11e04 Baby, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Minor Injuries, Oral Sex, Original Mythology, Post-it Notes, Rowena's Attack Dog Spell, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Spells & Enchantments, Swearing, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 20,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5208677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAnton/pseuds/AnonAnton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is recovering after being cured of the attack dog spell. After he accidentally finds Dean's journal, a secret communication ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first bit of writing I've pretty much done since I was about ten. I am aware that there are a few spelling and grammar mistakes, so please be kind on that front. Also please be kind on the first ever sex scenes I've written. Ever. 
> 
> The story is also here, with some not-great art. More artwork may or may not be added in the future.  
> https://anonymousantonym.wordpress.com/2015/11/02/of-post-it-notes/

He reads it again. A frown forming on his features. He can't decide whether to be amused, offended, upset or grateful. He goes over the neon pink post-it note one more time.

**I tried to check in with you about your hunt. I assume the information I provided was sufficient, as your belongings are here, and there is no blood anywhere.**

**It isn't a type of “Khan Worm” though. It is a Pyre-Serpant. Born from the ashes of human sacrificial pyres in early nations.**

From this Dean gleaned that firstly Castiel had come looking for him to check that he and Sam had made it back from the hunt OK. Secondly Cas has deduced that despite neither of them being present, they were both alive and unhurt. Thirdly, Cas had found out Dean kept a Hunter's journal. Fourthly, Cas has read at least this latest entry, found fault, and decided to correct it. And Fifthly, Castiel is about as good at signing off when writing on pink post-it notes as he is in person.

He's in part amused that Cas felt the need to 'Check in' and decided that the lack of blood was an indicator that they were OK. Offended that he read his personal journal that had been left open on his bed in his haste to join Sam on the beer run. Upset that he'd discovered his secret and incredibly private journal. Grateful that Cas had corrected his mistake. Not that that info really made much difference to anything else. The method of killing the slimy bastard was the same despite it's bloody name. But in some areas of life, Dean liked to get things right; and his 'Monster Stat's' were one of those areas.

Dean settles back on his bed, pulling the dark blue, soft and well worn, leather bound journal on to his lap. It's a thick volume, with about a third of the pages only marked by beer stains, soot and gun powder around the edges. The other two-thirds of the tome are filled with his last few years worth of hunts, experiences and acquired knowledge. It's not in traditional journal format, like his fathers was, with dated entries, but more like a series of case write-ups. Most of these are dry accounts of what they faced, what it's style of attack, or effect on people was, how to kill it, what might slow it down, and how to dispose of it. Some are entries on new spells or sigils. Some are translations of pages from old books. And, some. Some are personal entries. These are dated. These are usually small. Sometimes purely squeezed in to the margins. Or written slap bang in the middle of a block of text on something that was happening at the time, but for reference purposes, was wholly unrelated.

Flicking through some of the pages prior to the newly tip-ex'd Pyre-Worm entry Dean sees one of those personal entries. **Today Charlie died.** That was it. None of the out pouring of emotion that should have accompanied the entry. Charlie died. Another one of the people he loved, gone because of Sam and him. Words couldn't really cover the guilt. The anger towards Sam. The disgust that his actions, of getting the god-forsaken Mark, had led to Sam trying so hard to remove it. The heart ache that someone he considered to be a sister had been taken from him. He shakes his head. He's not over it, any of the emotions that are unwritten in that single journal entry, but he's come to terms with the fact that she all but sacrificed herself for loyalty. He's come to terms with the fact that she's dead.

He skips forward a few pages, determined not to get more upset about that particular sentence. He's looking for a particular entry now. One of the small personal entries that if Cas had read more of the journal than it at first seemed, could cause the upset/embarrassment he's almost expecting to be flung in to. After the release of the Darkness, he hadn't had time to keep the journal up to date, so had had to go back and write out all the details of those events while Cas was sitting chained up in the library and he and Sam had grabbed a few beers, and declared their need to sleep.

He'd felt bad about leaving Cas up stairs alone, he hadn't even wanted a beer. They'd wrapped him in a blanket, cleaned him up and asked if it was cool to go get some sleep. He'd pretty much just grunted and told them to go. He'd felt bad, but he'd also been too exhausted to stay upright any longer.

He'd taken his two beers, one full, one half drunk, and stripped down to boxers, slung on a clean t-shirt, and slunk under the blanket on his bed. He kept smelling the phantom aroma of petrol everywhere, despite he, Cas and Sam, at various points, all having a go at cleaning up the mess left by the Steins'. He'd dragged the soft blue leather book from the bottom of his bag and he'd started writing. About the mark, what he knew about the spell used to remove it, what the darkness was, appeared to be, and appeared to him as. Then he'd just stopped. Scored a double line straight across the page, written the date and then: **Lost track of the days a bit – Couple of days ago I beat the crap out of Cas. How could I?** **I hate mys** **How can I mak** **I don't know how to make this right.**

Dean flips another few pages forward. At the end of an entry about Rowena and a second adjoined entry about the Attack Dog spell he sees the last personal entry he wrote. **Cas beat the crap outta me today. I refused healing. I'm pretty sure he knows why. I got the feeling that we're square. I deserved it, he seemed happy to let me accept the beating as payback. I think we're good now.**

**I'm glad we're good now.**

Dean flicks over to the next page; the full Monster Stat. on the Pyre-Serpant. He feels again the thrill of the 3 foot long, impossibly fast beast, spewing it's way out of some poor bastards throat and along lunging across the floor in to the guys wife who'd feinted on the wooden floor of her kitchen. That's when he'd called Cas. The man had been acting odd, and there had been some strange animal deaths in the area. Goats. Sam and Dean had tracked the Goat deaths to him. I mean, come on, who slits the goat's neck, then picks out all the more edible internal organs, before trying to light a fire in the cavity where the intestines had been removed and flung on the ground. The edible organs were strangely missing… Because of the rain the carcases really hadn't burnt well and had been easy to find The trail of blood had been reasonably easy to track back to the dudes house. This was the fifth round of mysterious goat deaths in the vicinity. Goat deaths.

Cas had answered his phone quickly. Rowena had just removed the Attack Dog spell, but he was seriously ruined by it's affects still. He'd stayed at the bunker to try and recover while Sam and Dean had driven across the state to deal with the “Strange Goat Deaths!” headline.

“ _Dean?”_

“ _Cas! So. A three foot god-damn Khan Worm just flew outta some dudes throat! It's killin' the goats! It just jumped the missus. Sliver knife in his leg seemed to scare it out though. What the hell? Any ideas would seriously help. Shit! She's coming 'round already. Sam!”_

“ _Three foot long? Was is a muddy red colour?”_

“ _Well, once it had crawled through the stomach bile? Yeah, yeah I guess so.”_

“ _And, it's already in someone else?”_

“ _Yes!”_ Dean yelled.

“ _OK._ _You need her to drink Holy Water with some silver and charcoal in it. It must be re-sanctified with the silver and charcoal in it. Do you understand?”_

“ _Yeah, got it”_ Dean muttered. Then more loudly _“Where the fuck am I meant to get charcoal before this chick start_ _s_ _killing more goats?!”_

“ _She won't be killing goats Dean. This is the second iteration. She'll be moving on to humans now.”_

“ _Sweet. That's just great.”_

“ _Try an art shop Dean. Or a school.”_

“ _'Kay, Thanks Cas. Shit.”_

Dean hung up.

He yelled at Sam to keep the rousing woman there as he ran out the door towards the Impala. Sam gave Dean a 'seriously??' bitch-face as he tore out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later Dean was back outside the guy's house, listening to the sounds of a fairly obvious fight while he dropped several sticks of drawing charcoal in to one of the huge plastic bottles of holy water they keep in the trunk. A sliver crucifix goes in next and he muttered the Latin required over the whole thing. He didn't know how much he needed so grabbed the whole gallon bottle and cautiously made his way back up the stairs of the porch and back in to the house. Sam goes flying past his eye line as he pushes open the front door. The woman, looking far more feral and sick than her husband by this point, shambles past him at speed. Thankfully it seemed that this Mega-Khan Worm has a pretty limited attention span once it got it's target locked. It totally ignored Dean standing half behind the front door. He crept in to the house once Worm-lady had followed Sam in to the dining room. Peering around the door jam, he saw she'd mounted Sam's hips, which actually looked a hell of a lot less conformable than it sounds. She's tiny, and Sam landed on his side. She's perched stupidly on his top hip, leaning forward with her right hand toward his throat which is, along with Sam's features, facing Dean creeping up behind her. Sam's eyes crack open. And, all kudos to Sam, he took in the situation immediately. He rolled on to his back fully, unseating his kitchen-knife wielding hip-percher, pulled his arms to her waist and flipped them like he would a lover. He was now between her legs, her back flat on the hideously patterned rug. In an astoundingly quick movement he pinned her legs with his, and leant forward to trap her arms with his elbows, his hands forcing her shoulders down. He leant back about to head butt her when Dean yells out. She was snarling and twisting and turning trying to get out of his gigantor grip. Dean ran forward, skidding on the rug as he droped to his knees. “ _We need her to drink”_ he stated to his younger brother. _“Hold her!”_ Dean ran back out of the room towards the kitchen, and back in with a wooden spoon in his hand in order to force her mouth back open. He didn't want to risk getting bitten by Wormy down there. She may have been some half-worm half-zombie beast woman, but she still clearly had enough intelligence to know what was being said around her.

Dean pushed the handle of the spoon against her mouth until the force broke skin and the woman had no choice but to open her mouth. Her teeth still clenched shut he somehow, one handed, dragged the massive bottle of Holy Water and tipped it until some fell against her yellow, smokers' teeth. It would have been amusing sight, apart from, you know, context, 'n all. Trying to scream and keep her mouth shut can't have been easy. The scream of pain won. Dean forced the spoon handle fully across her mouth. With both sets of molars gnashing against the wood. Dean used one knee and a hand to keep the spoon in place and slowly poured the water down her throat, careful to keep the woman from choking. By the end of the first litre or so the screaming stopped, by the end of the second litre a small red evil looking second mouth had worked its way up her throat and was screaming itself from next to her tonsils. By the end of the third litre, the Worm was struggling. It looked like it was drowning. The woman’s eyes showed she had come back to herself now. But she was almost paralysed with shock at this point. By the forth litre the Worm wasn't moving or screaming any more. The woman had passed out again. Sam took hold of the spoon and Dean leapt up to find kitchen tongs. He wasn't gonna risk putting his hand near that. Returning he manoeuvred the plastic coated non-stick, purple, kitchen tongs in to the woman's throat. Pulling hard the huge, revolting, slimy, red-brown, snake like creature came loose. Not being sure if it was completely dead they dropped it in the vat of remaining water at their feet, until they could work out what to do with it.

After checking both Husband and Wife were alive, they called an ambulance. The tried to convince the semi-conscious man that intruders _not_ matching their descriptions had been disturbed in the house and attacked them.

It took the best part of 8 hours to get back to the Bunker. They'd found Cas passed out in one of the spare rooms. Sam had gone off to shower. While he was in there, Dean had decided to fill out some info on the damn Worm, before he showered and passed out with a beer. Fifteen minutes later, Sam had knocked on the door. _“We totally need beer.” “Yup, I'll be out in a sec.” “No, I mean there isn't any here. Or food.” “_ _Aw,_ _Shit man, right, let's go before I get too comfortable.”_

They'd jumped back in the car and Sam picked up real food from the supermarket while Dean grabbed beers and a bottle of whiskey from the off-licence, and some Thai take out while he was at it. Back to the Impala. Back to the bunker. Back to his room. Back to his journal lying on his bed with the post-it note stuck very obviously on the page.

At this point Dean realised that he's been sitting on the bed re-writing and re-reading journal entries for the last twenty minutes without having gone for a shower or eating his Thai.

He's mostly been thinking about Castiel, how they'd hurt and helped each other.

He wondered down the hall toward the shower room wondering what to say to Cas about his 'check in' and subsequent pink post-it. And his journal.


	2. Chapter 2

He heard the line go dead. The weird silence after the yelling, swearing human on the other end of the line had hung up was ringing in his ears.

He laughs to himself quietly. This weird silence had been ringing in his ears since Sam and Dean had hesitatingly left him alone in the Bunker to deal with the goat death case.

After the spell had been lifted he'd been able to filter out Angel Radio again of his own volition, and the weird compulsion he'd felt every time Crowley was mentioned, with it's accompanying visions had gone too.

Silence. Usually so cherished. Now felt cold and empty. He wasn't melancholy though. Seriously relieved and happy to be, not only, no longer under the horrific spell Rowena had cast, but grateful to be allowed to stay in the Bunker to recover. And not just while Sam and Dean were away. He felt welcome while they were there too. There were no extraneous or special circumstances meaning he had to leave, and he was so relieved to have a place he had been assured, by actions, not just words, that he could call home. Cas now felt, after the confrontation with Ephram, Hannah and Jonah, that he had no chance in Hell of ever returning to Heaven. He chuckled tiredly to himself again. Not that he wanted to go back, especially now Hannah was dead. He felt a stab of guilty sadness at her death. She had truly been a good Angel. All of last year he'd had an option to return. He'd helped track down other Angels who'd refused! And, yet, he did all he could to remain useful enough on Earth, to in fact, stay on Earth. Heaven was no longer home. He realised that it hadn't been in a while. Possible a long while. He wasn't sure where was, but he felt that the Bunker was currently the closest he had.

He heaved him self up and out of the chair in the Map Room where he'd taken Dean's call. He'd been trying to help clean the accelerant off some of the books that the Steins had decided to light a fire with before Dean stormed in that night. He hesitated at that memory, blood running cold, figuratively. He shakes his head, a sad frown forming. He'd forgiven Dean; even when he'd been smashing his fist in to his face. And Dean had accepted the forgiveness. Well, at least he had after he'd taken the punishment Cas' fist had done to his face in turn, while he was under that terrible spell. What a twisted way to apologise, and accept an apology in turn. But, some how, it worked for them.

He stumbles his way to a spare room, and smiling wryly to himself about his odd friendship with Dean, lets the fatigue over take him. He passes out on the bed.

Despite Castiel's current situation, with it's temporary, very human trait of complete exhaustion, Cas was still an Angel with his own, admittedly depleted, Grace. When he awoke, he knew that almost nine and a half hours had passed since he fell asleep on top of the blankets on the surprisingly lumpy bed. He awoke to find a second blanket thrown haphazardly over his body. Smiling lopsidedly he slowly and cautiously limps his way to the Map room, then the kitchen. No one seems to be in the building. The silence is still there. In the garage he detects a recent aroma of soft leather and motor oil. Looks like Sam and Dean had been and gone.

Cas frowns. He's surprised they didn't wake him if they'd gone off on another hunt. Shuffling back up to the main room, he decides to try their rooms to see if they've left their bags behind or not. If their clothes and bags are gone, he'd assume that something had come up in a hurry. Checking his phone to see no messages there, he knocks on Dean's closed bedroom door.

No answer. Feeling far worse about intruding in to his friends space than he'd expected to, Cas inches the door open to peer in. On the floor, directly in front of the door is Dean's duffel bag, open with a gun sticking out the top of the opened zip, and a knife on the floor caught up in a pair of dirty jeans. On the bed that, though made, had clearly been lain on, is a book Cas has never seen before. Feeling appallingly like he's breaking Dean's trust just by walking in the room, let alone reading from this book, which now he's closer looks like a journal. He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots in large clear lettering at the head of the page: _**Khan Worm Mk. III.**_ He scans the page quickly. He finds it to be a to the point and concise account of the weeks' hunt. All the details sketched in, without any useless, superfluous or flowery writing. Noticing the title again he feels the need to correct Dean's mistake, but he also feels the guilt coiling about his guts at having invaded Dean's room and private journal.

He decides to leave a note, rather than edit the entry directly. He can also explain why he was in there in the first place and hope that Dean isn't too annoyed at the potential prying. He's very aware that this is the first place Dean's considered his home, other than in the Impala, since the day his Mother died.

He makes his way to the kitchen where all the useful, and not too intimate things left by Kevin's stay in the Bunker found their way. From a drawer he plucks a post-it note and a pen. Writes his note and takes himself back to Dean's room. Feeling a small weight lift, he closes the door behind himself, still wondering where the men he now shares the Bunker with, have gone.

Reeling a little from the slight exertion caused by his curiosity, he goes back to the bedroom he slept in before. Taking the blanket one of the brothers dropped on him, he wraps himself up thoroughly, and, completely worn out, falls back asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Things had been surprisingly easy between himself and Cas since the 'Journal Incident,' as he'd dubbed it in his head.

Freshly showered, with a metric tonne of reheated Thai and a few convivial beers in his belly, Dean had crashed out that night with a small measure of whiskey in his room. His journal was put away, until he next needed it, in the closet, where it lived in between hunts. He'd gone to check on Cas before bed as he hadn't reappeared that evening. He'd found him in just the same place he'd left him after he'd slung a spare blanket over the dude's stretched out, passed out form. This time though he'd been curled up, blanket wrapped under his still shod feet, flipped over his head, and bunched in his hands which were stuffed under his chin. Only his face was showing, a slightly bemused look on the guy's face. Dean had huffed out a small laugh and quietly closed the door behind him.

The next week in the Bunker was, well, it was nice. Sam and Dean finished cleaning and tidying around the Bunker, removing as much of the fuel that had been thrown over all their precious books. Sam had spent a huge amount of time re-sorting the collection in the library. Dean had attempted to put away everything else; their belongings, random bedding that had been thrown about, some of the records in the record room/dungeon, and he'd cleaned up the dried blood from everyone he'd killed and hurt that God-damn night.

Cas started sleeping less, and helped both Sam and Dean with their self allotted tasks. Dean and Cas never mentioned the journal. In the evenings they hung out in the kitchen or the map room. In the middle of the week, Dean swung in to town and came back in an ugly white van. Sam exchanged an open mouthed, horrified look with Cas when they'd followed Dean back to the garage to help with 'something.' The something was a 1970's style, chrome framed, fawn brown, leather, two-seater sofa and a matching armchair. Standing by the back doors of the van, with one hand on his hip and one rubbing the back of his lightly flushed neck, Dean explained that on the way to the store for beer and dinner supplies, he'd driven past a flea market pitched up on the edge of town, and the pitch nearest the opening had these and a load of other furniture out. He'd basically pulled a u-turn in the road making the sudden and complete realisation that for some reason they didn't have anywhere to lounge of an evening. The guy at the stall was pissed off, grumpy, and scowling at the massive black clouds rolling in. Dean had offered the pot bellied stall-holder a ludicrously low price and begged use of the van for half an hour, in exchange for help loading said van with all the vendors crap when he returned. For some insane reason the portly grouch had agreed, although he had eyed the Impala lustfully.

Together they heaved the furniture from the van out in to the garage. Dean wanted to race immediately back to help the grumpy furniture seller out and reclaim his precious Impala and the booze, but first he pointed to Sam, then Cas. _“You. You are not moving furniture.”_ Turning back to Sam; _“I'll be back in an hour,_ _or so._ _”_

Feeling like he'd done something awesome for his brother and friend, he leapt back in to the weirdly high seat of the atrocious white van. Starting it up, the angry, rattling engine seemed to protest leaving the comfort of the garage with it's vintage brethren. _“Sorry dude, but I can hardly leave my Baby with your a-hole owner now can I? Oh. If he even touches her...”_ He whispers quietly to the van as he drives away from the Bunker again.

With a flood, no, a torrent of relief that, not only is his Baby where he left her, most assuredly locked tight, but the guy isn't even paying her any attention. He looks ready to just load up his van and scarper before the black sky just lets rip.

Two hours later, (the guy was really prissy about how the crappy chairs and bookcases went in his van,) Sam and Dean were manoeuvring the sofa in to the entrance hall, where the huge telescope pointed up to the cloud ridden sky. They used that as a 'focal point' which Sam seemed to think they required in lieu of a television. The minute Dean had got in the door and saw too guilty faces attempting to look innocently at him, he'd noted the lack of armchair in the garage. Dean, although not particularly annoyed at Cas' act of defiance, had yelled at both Sam and Cas for bringing it in between them.

Not long afterwards Dean sunk on to one end of the soft and comfy sofa and sprawled his limbs out. Sam came in and dropped a beer in to his hand. _“Awesome.”_ Dean grinned. Cas shambled over, a beer in his hand too, and perched on the other end of the sofa and smiled softly back at Dean. His face was a picture as he tried not to take note of every beer-y molecule that passed his tongue. Dean snorted in amusement as he took another swig of his beer. Cas slowly relaxed back on to the cushion at his back and stretched his own legs out. Dean nodded to himself and leant his head back and closed his eyes at the simple luxury. He heard Sam drop in to the chair, his sigh at his first swig of beer carrying over the quiet in the room. Deans eyes jerked open about three seconds later, an aborted 'dude!' on his lips as Sam leapt up, beer still in hand, only to return from the map room, ten seconds later, with his laptop. Clearly the giant man-child couldn't just simply relax without researching something. 'Jerk' he thinks in the privacy of his own head, a smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas, beer in hand, feeling marvellously relaxed, and not remotely sore or abashed for moving furniture against Dean's mother-hen-wishes, smiles to himself at Dean's eye roll at his brother's inability to actually do nothing. Dean is sprawled next to him, sunk down on his side of the sofa, his head tiled back against the thick, but low cushions.

Castiel starts to think about his own situation again. He's not anywhere near back up to full strength after fighting against the Attack Dog spell for so long. The spell was not designed for Angels, and it cost him more than a rabid desire to kill. But he knows he's mending, and will be up to full strength soon. He still sleeps. But not as much. As often as not he is just genuinely resting his eyes.

He's more worried about when he returns to full health. He's pretty certain that the whole of the Host has made him public enemy number two, after Metatron, by now. Every Angel will know to either capture him or torture him immediately, or even possibly, to kill him on sight. He hopes he will still be able to leave the Bunker to help Sam and Dean or help Claire if she calls again. He wants to take down Rowena and Metatron. He wants to help solve the rather enormous problem of having helped Sam, against Dean's wishes, release an evil older then God against the world. He doesn't want to be stuck in this new home, he doesn't want it to become his exile or prison.

He closes his eyes as he hears Sam return. He senses Dean in a similar position to himself. Leant back against the sofa, eyes closed, beer in hand. Sam snorts; quite possibly at their twin poses. Then the soft sound of the laptop starting up fills the room. Time passes, the only movement or sound that of one of them taking a sip of beer, or the tapping of Sam's keyboard. He takes a moment to consider just how rare this is. Sam and Dean have not really had a proper home for almost all of Sam's life. Having a sofa to relax on, that is theirs, their choice, is clean and comfortable. This is their first sofa to rest and relax on that they'll be able to remember, that will be there the next time they're home, that they can lose loose change and remote controls down the back ok. He feels privileged to be allowed to share this with the two extraordinary humans.

Cas drifts in to a more trance-like state. He begins counting heartbeats. He can hear Dean's, extremely slow and even, as he all but dozes close to him. Sam's, faster, is a little further away. Cas is ready for the outburst when it comes as he's listening to Sam's small shuffles in his seat, the occasional sound of quick typing and the inevitable speeding of his heart beat before he all but yells _“So get this!”_

“ _JESUS!_ _Fucking_ _C_ _hrist_ _!”_ Dean yells. Cas snorts in to his beer, belly shaking with suppressed laughs.

“What the Hell is wrong with you?!”

“What?”

“I was basically asleep dude! Com'on. It was all nice and quite. Jesus.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry, but look I found something”

“Oh course you fricking did. Crap, you made me spill my beer.”

“It's a case Dean.”

“Yah. Sure. Whatever. Ugh, go on then tell me...”

The reverent, relaxed silence is ruined for the night. Dean gets up for more beers and grabs his own laptop, hiding the screen from both Sam and Cas. Sam starts researching properly, and Cas takes himself off to the room he's now acquired after offering a _“Goodnight Sam. Goodnight Dean.”_ Sam replies with _“Night, Cas!”_ Dean just nods and smiles with intense eyes. He remains awake on his bed, blanket wrapped about his shoulders, until he hears both brothers walk up the hall to their own rooms. Dean's is nearer his own, and he hears the door shut before he slides in to whatever passes for Angels sleep.

The next morning the brothers gone before Cas wakes and leaves his room. He gets up, makes the coffee he still has a lingering enjoyment for and settles down, stretched out, on the new sofa. After Sam's outburst the night before he managed to find a book in the library about obscure shape-shifters. He's reading the section on a British type of Shifter that has human intelligence, but can only shift between animal forms. It has an astounding amount of blood lust and a reputation for leaving long trails of bloody corpses and next to no clues. One second it could be a 20ft sabre-toothed bear the next a docile sheep chewing (it's soapy remains) in a field. The fact they always eat their remains is both a blessing a curse. No evidence, but eating the skin of an angry hippo (or whatever) takes time. Cas feels a small anxious know coil in his stomach. He hopes his friends will be all right.


	5. Chapter 5

When they get back four days later Sam and Dean take it in turns to shower off the accumulated filth of the hunt. Three days with no sleep or showering is gross. Dean washes first, Sam kindly letting him wash his wounds before he takes his regulation hour long girl-shower. Feeling warmed through and mildly dazed from lack of sleep he creeps in to his room, feeling better already at the familiar sight of his memory foam mattress. After pressing some half-assed dressings to his freshly cleaned cuts, he digs through his bag, which is where he dumped it on arriving back, and comes up with his blue leather bound journal. He notes it's getting worn at the corners, starting to look like a real hunters journal now. Thinking to get the encounter down whilst it's still fresh, he flicks through to a new page, and the Post-it note Cas' had written not all that long ago falls out. He half smiles, feeling weirdly pleased at the reminder that Cas had cared enough to check up on them/him after their last hunt. He grabs some tape from the drawers at the side of the room and sticks the note back in its place on the previous page.

_**British Creature Shifter** _

_**First off no idea why it's over here. Maybe got scooped up with cattle or horse import or something? Maybe swam over? Possible. Flew?** _

_**Bastard thing is viscous! Extremely aggressive. Once it's fighting it won't shift as it has to stop and eat remains unless seriously threatened. Corner it, threaten it. It'll fight, but if you can find it's weakness in that shape you can exploit that.** _

_**It is able to either use extinct beasts or make it's own hybrid creatures if it is given time to prepare for a fight. Do not give it time to prepare. Think all the teeth, tusks, poison, barbs, and armour you can imagine.** _

_**Generally hides in plain view when not feeding.** _

_**Likes to cause pain? Only kills humans. Doesn't seem to have a particular demographic or time frame for it's feeding. Seems to eat anything/everything from the body, until it's full.** _

_**Copper blade to the brain will kill it, temporarily. Salt and burn within 24 hours.** _

–

–

**Seriously. The fuck? This thing is a brute. Looks like we gave it time to prepare. Note: Try not to fight an armour plated thing with a battle axe style tail, massive claws and fecking Shark teeth! I only got the fucker cos it tried to impale me with it's claws but I got outta the way somehow. It got it's claws stuck in the mud. Literally. Well. I think Sam might have stabbed it's hand to distract it. Jesus. Shame it raked it's God-damn dino tail across my chest first. The cuts are still bleeding. How do you make em stop??**

Dean ends his personal note to himself in an aggrieved sigh at the rhetorical question. The one deep cut across his chest with two parallel shallower cuts either side aren’t bleeding heavily. Just steadily. He'd driven the first five hours of the drive home straight after burning the massive bastard thing. But, he'd begun to feel woozy. He didn't think it was from loss of blood. He'd sterilized the wound at the motel and wrapped it well before getting in the car, but after getting out of the car at a gas-n-sip on the route home, he noticed blood seeping through the bandages. He felt dizzy. Sam had loaded up on water and snacks while paying for the gas, and forced Dean in to the passenger seat to make him take it easy.

When they'd got back Sam had all but shoved him in to the shower room and helped him remove the bandages. The wounds hadn't clotted at all. As he showered he watched them continue to bleed slowly out. It's not like they were gushing blood, so he wasn't too worried, but he still felt a bit dizzy, he put at least some of that down to the hot atmosphere in the shower room.

Back in his own room, having written up the adventure, he checks the dressings, simply taped in place, and throws on an oversize t-shirt with his sweats and shrugs on his robe over the top thinking seriously about grilled cheese sandwiches and wondering where Cas had got to. Sighing and letting his gurgling stomach lead him, he drags himself off the bed, making towards the kitchen. He completely forgets to put away his Journal or shut the door fully behind him.

Still wondering idly about Cas' whereabouts, he suddenly has his question answered as he crosses the newly furnished entrance hall. Cas is draped across the whole of the sofa, one knee bent, the other slung over the far armrest. Dean can hear the man's- Angel's, deep, steady breathing. One of his arms had flopped over the edge of the sofa and was hanging in space, the other clutched a book on Minoan philosophy to his chest. It looked uncomfortable. Dean knew Cas was whole and himself now, but healing. He wondered if he withdrew from his vessel slightly during the process, letting it's natural functions have a little more autonomy, hence the sleeping and the breathing. He should add that thought to his Journal. Taking another look at Cas' serious sleeping face, he sniggers to himself and decides to make the mother of grilled cheese.


	6. Chapter 6

Cas woke up to the sound of sizzling, and the smell of hot butter and cheese wafting around the bunker. He smiles. His friends were home.

He peers silently in to the kitchen where Dean was strumming air guitar against a fish-slice, his eyes screwed shut, mouthing along to the radio, a pan spitting fat in to the air on the stove. He quietly creeps away, so as not to embarrass his friend, to put his book away in his room and to retrieve a few notes he'd left in the records room.

He'd spent the last few days trying to research anything that might pertain to the Darkness, but hadn't found anything concrete. He felt the need to talk to Sam and Dean about his research though, whether or not he'd found anything useful. None the less, they were just back from a hunt, and talking could wait until they'd eaten, and, going by the watery sounds coming from down the hall, showered. On his way back to the kitchen to say hello to Dean, possibly with a loud, false coughing fit to give the man fair warning, he notices that Dean's bedroom door was open.

A sliver of blue leather against the khaki of the blanket on his bed catches his attention.

He knew it was wrong. He really did. Surely it was wrong? But, nothing had come of the last time. Maybe Dean hadn't minded? He couldn't even pin point why he felt the need to look at this clearly private document, but need, he did feel. Dean had never mentioned the Journal once in Cas' hearing. The fact that Dean knew Cas knew about it, but had remained silent too, was a mystery. Maybe it was the secret they now shared that he was drawn to? Something he and Dean shared? What ever the reason, he found himself already in Dean's room scanning the page. He laughed at Dean's description. It was slightly more emphatic than the one about the Pyre-Worm.

Then, Cas got to the personal note. Having not actually pried in to the rest of the journal before, despite Dean's fears, Cas had never seen one of Dean's honest, journal-style entries. Cas laughed at the change in style and the description of the Shifter. Then sobered immediately when he read the question about making the wounds stop. Cas genuinely had to stop and think for a minute. He'd read the book he'd found on shifters, and this shifter in particular, but it hadn't mentioned poison. He wondered if it was related to the Scandinavian Shifter which had similar hunting methods, and was equally viscous, but was only able to shift in human form. That Shifter was able to poison it's prey. Mildly, but enough to weaken a target. Assuming the standard Shifter was a human mutation, and the Scandinavian Shifter was a particularly evil and animalistic mutation of the original Shifter. Perhaps the British one was a further mutation. They already knew shifters could breed, so why not find that they'd evolved in to animal forms. That or the original shifter of that branch had an affinity for animals more than humans. It was an interesting point. But didn't help Dean.

He reached in his pocket and fished out the post-it notes and pen he didn't remember putting in his pocket after the first note. It seemed natural to have them there.

**Glad you're home and alive, if not entirely well.**

**Try washing the wounds in saline made with the salt from all Seven Seas. There are the salt from five in the store room already. I can obtain the remaining two easily.**

Sticking this post-it under Dean's entry, feeling good that his intrusion in to Dean's privacy may end up helping the man. He makes his way steadily to the kitchen, back to the amazing smell of grilled cheese that he wouldn't be able to appreciate eating. En route, Dean skids past him, looking slightly pale and sweaty. _“Cas! Hey! I'm just fetching Sam for dinner! We'll catch up in a sec, yeah?”_ _“Yes Dean, OK.”_

Sam shows up in the kitchen before Dean does. His large form nosing at the air as he flops heavily on the bench at the table. They exchange a few words of greeting before Cas starts to worry that Dean still hasn't returned to eat his dinner. Dean must have found his note. Maybe he's over stepped some sort of mark in trying to help his friend? Maybe Dean is angry at him. He knows he shouldn't have entered his room again, nor read his private Journal. While his mind whirls Sam has got up and helped him self from the pile of hot sandwiches on the side. Anxiety building as he watches Sam scoff down his food, Cas just hopes that Dean will accept his help, broken trust or not.

Dean finally comes back in when Sam is finishing his dinner. _“Thanks Dean, that was actually just what I needed, even though you have clearly forgotten to provide salad again.” “Uh, yeah, sorry.” “Hey man, what's up? Are you still dizzy? You're not still bleeding are you?” “Yeah, I dunno. Yeah, it kind_ _a_ _looks that way. It's not bleeding fast...”_ He looks across at Castiel, who, deciding to blast past apologies, says _“_ _j_ _ust fast enough, and with enough poison, that in a few days your body will be too fatigued to replace the blood you_ _ar_ _e losing. The idea of the poison, if it's the same as the Scandinavian Shifter, is two fold. Weaken the prey; you can't fight with half the amount of blood you're meant to have. And to leave an easy trail to follow. I haven’t seen the wounds, but after_ _twenty-four_ _hours you already look like you're suffering. I should get you what you need.” “Cas. I can't ask you to do this. You aren't well yet. You're still sleeping._ _Heaven is after you._ _”_ Dean's voice is quiet, calm and close to monotone. Something has changed in him since the Darkness was released. He no longer seems to be using his hot headed anger as the first option for something he doesn't necessarily like the sound of. _“_ _I can choose to go Dean._ _I can choose to take the risk._ _It may well mean that, yes, I set back my recovery a little. But scooping up some water and evaporating it from two locations on the globe shouldn't kill me.”_ He was trying for a light tone, glossing over the problem of Heaven finding him, but Dean just looks worried. In fact, he's worried too. He shouldn't be found, he's off the Angels radar with the tattoo masking him, but you can never tell. Still it should be a quick trip. He could probably even _buy_ the salts required, but that requires human interaction. That's still something he's not exactly confident with, it would also leave him open to being tracked. Getting the required salt himself would be easy. Plus, now he doesn't have that damn spell affecting him, and he has his Grace he cannot wait to spread his wings properly. Flying under the spell had been hard to control, his stolen Grace, he'd not even had wings. He's dying to fly strong again. Poor choice of words perhaps.

It's later. No particular decision had been made from Dean's side, but he'd decided to help his friend. He'd decided earlier to leave when the brother were asleep to remove the obstacles Dean would inevitably put in his way to helping the man. Sam had asked a series of awkward questions about why Cas knows Dean was hurt and bleeding and hadn't they just got here, when did they have time to talk, I don't understand. Cas knew Dean didn't want his journal known about. Dean seemed reasonably happy now that Cas was displaying possibly his first good deception skills. Ever. Well, apart from when he'd lied to them about building Angel armies, or eating Purgatory. It's the smaller things he has problems with. They'd managed to deflect Sam saying they'd talked while Dean was cooking the sandwiches that the man was now chewing his way through.

Now though, standing alone in the quiet building with the memory of Dean's worried expression burning behind his own eyes, worried for both of them, Cas stretches his wings. Oh God! Jesus! He blasphemes in the silence of his own head as he reaches out with the full extent of his wings. They'd been gone, or battered and broken so many times he doesn't even know. He lets out a groan and rolls his neck. Hunches his shoulders forward stretching out his spine and pushing his still invisible wings even further out. He can feel without looking in to that ethereal plan that his wings are all but healed now. It's been weeks since he reclaimed his own Grace. Healing the ruined limbs and regrowing the feathers – or at least what the human world perceives as feathers, is part of what's taken so long with his healing, here in the Bunker. The Attack Dog spell did nothing to improve their condition. With his eyes closed, and a pain/pleasure expression on his face, he raises his arms to the side, hands balled in to fists. At the same time he stretching his spine straight then arches back, rolling up on to the balls of his feet. He stays there for a moment, flexing all of his muscles, enjoying the sensation of strength throughout his body. Ready to fly, he lets out the smallest whine with the pleasure of it.

He takes a deep breath, snatches his eyes open, grins for the pure joy of it. He disappears in to the ether, pushing himself half way across the world in seconds with his huge, beautiful, whole, strong wings.

He never noticed Dean leaning against the door frame, arms folded, in his boxers and bandages, silent, his mouth a perfect 'O'.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean may not be speaking, but he feels as if his thoughts are stuttering. What..? What was that..? Why did Cas look so..? When did he..? Why was he..? And that noise..? I mean, What??!

Dean shakes his head trying to shake the weird bemused feeling he has that Cas has just shown, all be it with out his knowledge, a side of him self that shows ecstasy and revels in the feel of his own body, even if the part of said body being revelled in was invisible at the time. The Cas who still sits as if he has a stick up his ass most of the time. Huh. Who knew?

He fetches the glass of water he had been after.

Back in bed, he decides as he's awake already that he may as well wait for Cas to get back. He's sufficiently worried about Cas getting caught by the other Angels, or simply not having enough strength to pick up what he needs to help cure Dean's wounds, that he couldn't get back to sleep anyway. Plus the guilt that Cas is out there risking himself for Dean yet again, when it really isn't deserved, is starting to grind on him. How many times do they need to prove their friendship and trust this way?

Getting out of his warm blankets, he pads off to the closet and grabs the Journal. Sliding back under the covers with a pillow propped behind his back, he opens the blue cover to the very first page covered in his own handwriting.

_**Angels.** _

He'd bought the Journal a few days after he'd met Castiel that first time in the barn with Bobby. The day he'd found that Castiel was an Angel. The day he'd discovered who'd pulled Dean from the pit. When he'd started writing down the information that Bobby had unearthed or that which Castiel had volunteered, he'd still thought all Angels were dicks. Soon he'd started adding his own observations of Cas and the other Angels they'd met. The first three pages were devoted to that first meeting and all the information gathered about his resurrection. Soon though, a huge wad of further notations had been added, glued, taped and just slipped in to the book between the last true page on Angels and the next page devoted to their first experience of the sixty-six seals. He flips to the last set of notes in this mess of extra paper; _**Grigori.**_ Snagging a sheet of paper off the lined note book by his bedside lamp he starts adding a new note to the mass if information in his hands.

_**Angels stretch! I guess if their wings aren't used in a while? Whole body stretch. Clearly feels good! They keep the wings invisible while doing this.** _

Dean pauses thinking. Why is he writing this in the Angel section. Or at all? It's not a particularly useful piece of knowledge about Angel's habits. He just feels compelled to put this in the journal. He sighs. The practically superfluous entry didn't seem complete somehow. It doesn't look finished.

_**~~Cas looked hap~~ ** _

_**~~Cas looked fre~~ ** _

Damn it. This isn't a personal note. Placing a hand to the slightly blood stained bandages on his chest, he sinks his head behind him on to the cold of the wall. With closed eyes he pictures his friend in that strong, serene and ecstatic pose; so unusual for the normally stiffly hunched Angel.

_**Perhaps the wings are actually attached to the physical body, rather than just a part of the Angel's true form? Why stretch otherwise? Or maybe that's a peculiarity of Cas as he's fallen before, or because he's alone in his vessel? Maybe he inhabits it closer than other Angels? Or more fully?** _

Dean stops writing. The note had turned to musings. He tried to keep most of the book as cold hard facts usually.

A thump, a groan and then a light tinkling noise filter down the hall way and through Dean's door. Like he's received an electric shock, he's out the bed, through the door and down the corridor towards to noise in a matter of seconds.

Dean stamps in to the map room where he finds Cas half lying on the floor. His legs out to the side, propped up on his hands in front of him, head down and face screwed up in pain. Two small glass vials lie on the floor next to him, whole and unbroken.

Dean runs to him and grips his shoulder in one hand, the other cups his cheek and drags Cas' gaze up to meet his.

“ _Cas! You OK?”_

“ _I'm fine, Dean.”_

“ _Yah. You look just peachy. Come on buddy.”_

“ _The salt Dean, you need to clean the wounds. You've lost a lot of blood.”_

“ _Yeah, yeah. I'll sort it in a sec. Can we just get you off the damned floor first?”_

Cas Sighs. _“Fine. I am perfectly capable.”_

“ _Yeah. Right.”_

Dean carefully puts the salts up on the table before hunkering down and placing his shoulder to Cas' armpit, manoeuvring the Angel's arm over his shoulders. Dean places his arm around Cas waist and pushes him self up off the ground heaving Cas up along side him.

Dean, through his slightly light-headed haze, manages to support Cas down the corridor to the room he'd been using to recover in.

“ _There y'are dude.”_

“ _Thank you Dean. Go and boil some water and get the salts. We should wash those wounds now. They're weakening you.”_

“ _Dude no! You're exhausted. You've just flown half way across the God-damn world, dodging evil Angels for all I know! A few hours more won't kill me.”_

“ _There were no Angels. The tattoo did it's job. And, it might! I'll rest easier knowing you're not going to die from blood loss in the mean time. Do it!”_

“ _Jesus. Bossy much? Fine.”_

Dean storms out of the room to heat water and collect the other five salts from his room where he placed them earlier in the day after talking with Cas. Despite their not officially letting Cas go, He knew it was the only option to stop the ridiculous wounds from killing him slowly.

Re-entering Cas' room with a bowl of freshly boiled water and a medical kit under one arm, he quickly follows the instructions Cas gives him. Adding just the right amount of sea salt from each jar or vial to the steaming water while Cas digs through the medical box for sterile wadding.

“ _Remove the soiled bandages”_

“ _Wha?”_ It is at this exact point that Dean makes the realisation that he not only didn't bother to put on a shirt or his gown when he went to fetch the glass of water, but that he hadn't had time to add any clothing since. This meant he was in Cas' bedroom wearing only his boxer shorts and some bloody gauze. Suddenly he feels very exposed, and worried that removing the blood stained wads of cotton taped across his chest will make him more naked somehow. He crosses his arms across his chest unconsciously.

“ _Remove the bandages Dean! I can hardly help you if you won't let me get to the wounds.”_

“ _Uh! I can just do this myself, man. Let you get some rest you know?”_

“ _Dean. This is going to hurt. You won't be able to clean them your self. The pain will be more than suturing your own wounds closed.”_

“ _Shit. Just let me, ya know, put someth-”_

“ _Dean. Remove the damn bandages now.”_

Cas gives him one of his smiting stares. In return Dean shoots Cas a filthy look but rips off the red, wet bandaging. There are no scabs to be ripped free with the wadding.

“ _Hmm. They're worse than you've been letting on. The middle one is deep. Lie back on the bed.”_

“ _What?!”_

“ _Lie on the damned bed Dean! I can't clean them properly if you're all hunched over.”_

“ _Fine.”_

Dean and Cas roll their eyes at each other's behaviour.

Ten minutes later Dean is biting down on his fist while tears leak involuntarily down his cheeks. He's not crying, but it's astoundingly painful. Stupid poison shifter and stupid magic stinging bloody salt. _“There. They're clean. The bleeding's stopping already.”_ It's only then that Dean takes a look at the hand he's been biting there are shallow bloody teeth marks against his thumb and knuckles. Jesus that had hurt. While Cas sticks new bandages to his chest he uncurls both fists he'd had clenched. His right had had been balled up in what he'd thought was the blanket on the bed, but embarrassingly found was Cas' trench-coat. _“Uh, Sorry.” “What for?”_ Cas answers him with out even looking up, focused on re-bandaging Dean's chest. _“Uh, holding on?”_ For some reason he feels that it was unacceptable somehow. Cas just looks him with one of his best blank faces. Dean squirms at the Angels expression. Suddenly exhausted from pain, worry and lack of sleep, he yawns hugely.

“ _Go to bed Dean. We both need_ _rest_ _.”_

“ _Yeah. Uh. Thanks y'know? For this, and, y'know, everything. You didn't have to.”_

“ _Yes. Dean. I did.”_ Cas sighs. _“Last time I check_ _ed,_ _friends are meant to help each other out, not beat each other to a pulp.”_ He looks up at Dean, straight in the eyes, sadness clearly evident, but with a tiny quirk to the side of his mouth.

Dean, still lying flat on the bed, staring in to the man's unfathomable eyes, notices a warm feeling overcome him through his sleepy state. He feels weirdly unwilling to leave the room. Once that thought coils in to the forefront of his brain, he practically leaps from the bed. Horizontal and prone to upright and moving in one second flat. Muttering a _“'night Cas, thanks”_ he makes it to his own room in record time.

Jesus. What. The. Hell?


	8. Chapter 8

He feels completely elated! Wired, like he used to sometimes at the Gas-n-Sip when he'd drank far too much coffee, but with a good mood; with happiness layered over the top. He flew! He flew around the world again. He may have been in the ether, where weather, gravity and all the other joys of the world are lessened, but he could still feel a shadow of the harsh cold wind pushing at his face, could still feel the salt spay against his skin as he dove to meet the crest of a wave. And he'd flown fast! He'd been able to move faster and further in the last half an hour than he had in months! He'd forgotten how exhilarating it was!

Cas frowned. He'd felt it when his power waned. He'd known that he wouldn't be up for sustained flight, the physical drain was too much on his still recovering body and Grace. Oh, but it had been worth it! To be able to stretch his wings again had been amazing, even if it had been a struggle to land with any grace, and harder still to force the vessel part of his body back out of the ether and in to the real world. Gravity had suddenly taken hold again, surprising him slightly. He'd hoped to be able to go to Dean and offer to help him, but he'd fallen to the floor instead, all of the muscles in his back screaming. Dean had run in. Cas was aggrieved that Dean had seen him looking and acting so helpless. He'd forced Dean to just shut up and accept his help though, despite his personal weakness. He'd felt a little more in control. But now he almost wished he'd let Dean have his way. He probably wouldn't have come to harm waiting until morning to cleanse the wounds, and now Cas felt terrible. Weak, sick, and his legs felt like jelly beneath him as he rose to pour the bowl of bloody water down the sink in the bathroom. His back was still agony, all of the muscles in his back still stabbing him with agony every time he moved.

On the way back to his room where he planned to pass out comfortably under the spare blanket on the bed, he noticed that Dean's door was ajar by a few inches, the light still on. At first he assumed that Dean was still awake, it had only been less than ten minutes since he'd pelted out of Cas' room. His sudden burst of speed amused and confused Cas slightly, he put the man's odd behaviour all night down to lack of blood and sleep.

Another step brought Dean's pale unclothed arm in to view, slung across the covers. One more step and Cas could see Dean slumped on the cushions, wrapped up under the blankets of his bed, eyes shut, breathing regular. Cas smiled. Dean always looked so calm when he slept dreamlessly. It was almost hypnotic to watch. Cas turned his steps to go towards his own room, when a flash of blue and white on the forest-green blanket of the bed caught his eye.

He almost forcefully turned his own body away from the tempting sight of Dean's Journal and marched him self back to his own bed. He crawled under, made himself shut his eyes, and tried to sleep. Not that it was true sleep. More like a healing trance for Angels. But, needless to say the effect was more or less identical. His thoughts kept returning to that Journal though, innocently sitting on Dean's bedspread. Why was he so fascinated with it? He'd read John's. It wasn't like Hunters Journals were a complete mystery to him. Then he thought about Dean, his complete lack of acknowledgement that Cas had read his private Journal, and how he had silently asked Cas, in his roundabout way, if Cas could really help him. Maybe that was it. Maybe Cas didn't have some weird compulsion to read the single pages that Dean left open occasionally, maybe he had a weird compulsion to help Dean. And, yes, that was true to a degree, but he'd been going out of his way to help Dean for years. He'd disobeyed heaven for the man because he'd believed him to be in the right. He'd given up an army for him because he knew he wouldn't ever forgive himself for killing a friend, no matter what the ends were. Every time he'd gone against his instincts to listen to, or ask for help from the weak, very human male across the hall from him, something spectacularly wrong had happened.

So, if the instinct to help and stand side by side with that very righteous man had always been there, and he'd acted on the instinct many times before, why was that one small hand written book becoming the focus of his thoughts?

Huh. Maybe that was it? It gave him an opportunity in small, incidental, even accidental ways to help Dean, show him solidarity even more?

But if he did what he was itching to do it would no longer be an accident. It'd be very much on purpose. If he got up now, walked down the corridor to Dean's room, crept in, and read what Dean has been writing only a few hours ago, that was very much a purposeful action. Breaking the very firm rules of privacy that Dean had built up over the years even further as he'd have to creep in there while Dean was sleeping in his own private room!

Ugh! He rolls over and screws his eyes shut more firmly, he almost finds him self longing for the bad ol' days where there were no 'wants', jut orders. He huffs a laugh to him self, amused at his own whirling thoughts.

Taking a deep breath finally, and concentrating on relaxing every muscle in his acquired body, he's able to calm himself enough to slip in to Angel's sleep.

It felt like mere seconds like when a loud yell rouses Cas. He jumps out of bed expecting to hear the thundering footsteps of Sam or Dean running down the hall to find out what's wrong. But there's nothing. Nothing is different to normal. He'd have thought he'd dreamt the noise, except that as a full Angel he doesn't dream. As he quietly makes his way out of his room, he notices that he hadn't closed his door properly when he returned earlier. Softly pulling it further open he hears another muted yell coming from the direction of Dean's room. Cas runs the last few feet and pushes Dean's door open fully, expecting to see him grappling with something. It wouldn't be the first time the Bunker's defences had been breached.

Dean is lying flat on his belly, arms and legs splayed at awkward angles, his head buried in a pile of pillows. He lets loose an even quieter yell, muffled by the pillows around his face. Accompanying the yell is a wild jerk of his limbs. He's dreaming. Relief floods of Cas. Having as many nightmares as Dean suffers from must be terrible, but nothing actually bad would come of it. His friend is safe.

As Cas turns to leave, he sees that the Journal which had been sitting on the far side of Dean's bed earlier in the night, has been kicked across the space to sit, half off the bed, mere feet from Cas/ Despite his earlier thoughts, Cas just can't help himself. He's simply too curious about what Dean had been writing earlier in his book, feels like he needs to know. Castiel scans the entry dated that day, written on blue lined, cheap note paper and sellotaped in to place to make an extra impromptu page in the book.

Cas feels in part, surprise, that Dean had clearly seen him that night before he'd taken flight. He also feels somewhat taken advantage of, that a moment he'd thought private to himself had been witnessed. That Dean had witnessed his pure pleasure at stretching his wings. But it was the last addition to the page, under a double line score across the paper, that caused the weird hot feeling in Cas' chest and the tiny soft smile he turned to the, now quiet, form of Dean, snuffling in to his bed covers.

**Cas looked happy and free today. Made me feel good to see him like that.**


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Dean noticed when he woke up was that his chest was infernally itchy. He hated, absolutely despised, healing, scabby, sodding wounds. _“It shows it's healing”_ Oh. Bloody great! Can't it show it's sodding healing without bloody making him want to pull his skin off to remove the terrible feeling? No. Of course not.

He rolls on to his back, reality hitting when he realises that the wound yesterday morning had just been a bloody mess on his chest, with that freshly cut, hot burn pain around the edges. What ever that stuff had been, that Cas swabbed the cuts with, may have hurt like all the fires of Hell (yeah, not literally. Shame he has a frame of reference really,) but it really seems to have done the trick! He sits up, all attention on the white wound dressings on his chest. Picking the shallowest cut, the uppermost one one his torso, he peels back the tape holding the wadding down. The thin, ragged end of the cut, more a scratch at this end, was completely covered in a delightful scab, no redness around the outsides of it, no pain. Awesome! It looks like it's healed three days worth in just one night. He wonders about ripping the bandages off, but figures it wouldn't actually hurt to let Sammy or Cas just double check they're doing what they're meant to do first. He's getting tired of his impatience just leading to longer recovery times.

He re-sticks the corner of the dressing and starts to think about breakfast. After the night's activities he's starving. And, he's pretty sure he can hear something sizzling. Oh, wait is that coffee he can smell? Throwing the covers off his legs he notices his Journal sitting crazily on the floor, perched on it's forty-five degree angled spine, the pages flared out between the front and back covers. A few added-in pages lying loose on the floor.

He slides off the bed to sit crossed legged on the freezing floor. Heaving the blanket off the bed for the moment rather than get up and pull clothes on, he rights the book, picking up the loose pages and trying to work out where they go. It's probably stupid that he uses a mixture of chronological entries and making notes which are added in to previous entries of the same subject. There are to date three entries for werewolves, all of which have spurious bits of paper stuck in, no rhyme or reason to it. The only supernatural being which has only one group of pages dedicated to it is _**Angels**_ , this entry is added to in it's own chronology.

One of the Angel pages had fallen out, a notation about angel blades being kept in the ethereal plane along with the wings. So maybe they were actually an extension of Grace? What happen when they get lost or stolen? Being dated though it was easy to add back in to place, and tape to prevent the problem occurring again. That's when Dean spots the familiar bright pink corner of a post-it note. There shouldn't be one here. Cas only left two, and those were on things happening at the time. Why would Cas leave a note in the middle of the night? Did he come in the room? With rising panic, he wrapped the blanket more closely around his hips, and turned to the offending page.

**Dean, I think I have integrated more fully with my vessel than any other known Angel. We need permission to enter a vessel, and there has only been one case of an Angel being resurrected For some reason Jimmy's body was rebuilt and given to me, but Jimmy was allowed to pass to heaven. If I left the vessel I could no longer ask permission, but equally it means I am the only Angel to have ever inhabited, to all intents and purposes, their own body.**

**So, yes, it does feel good when I stretch. And yes, I think my body is more linked to my Grace than there is any cause for. Perhaps because of the length of time this body has had Grace within it, but no soul? I don't know. I have no answers for you on this question.**

**I didn't know you were there Dean. Are you going to stay silent next time you find me in a compromising position?**

Right. Wait. What?

Firstly, that was four post-it notes stuck to the page in a square below Dean's own writing.

Did he know how God-damn suggestive that was?! No. He probably didn't. Dean laughs to himself. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, naive baby in a trench-coat! Wow. Now is probably not the time to address where Cas' last sentence has sent his mental imagery though. Seriously. That weird, dorky dude. And, wait. Why was he not even annoyed about this? Cas had sneaked in in the night and written him a note. I mean, what?! Jeez!

“ _GUYS?!”_

That was Sam's voice! Dean jumped up off the floor, forgetting Cas' note and his general lack of clothing, because Sammy had yelled. Sammy might be in trouble.

He and Cas almost crashed in to each other outside of Cas' room as the hurtled down the corridor, both trying to get to Sam in a hurry. They reached the map room in seconds. Sam was sitting, legs resting on the table with his laptop on his knees and a coffee in his hand, looking as ease and completely not under attack.

Dean and Cas both came to a standstill.

Cas came to himself first. _“Sam? Is something wrong?”_

“ _Huh? I think I've found a case.”_

Dean blinked. _“And you thought it was worth yelling at the top of your voice, waking us both up?!”_ Dean went from angry and shouting to acutely embarrassed in about .0345 of a second. He remembered his state of undress and pinched the bridge of his nose while a dull flush worked across the back of his neck. _“We weren't, I mean, I wasn't, um, I'm just going to go put some clothes on, damn it.”_

Cas just turned his head to look at him, wide eyed and perplexed looking. Sam laughed outright. _“_ _Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I'll tell you about it on the road OK? I'll meet you both in the garage in thirty- yeah?”_

“ _Ah, come on man, I only stopped bleeding like two hours ago. Cas' flew around the fricking world last night. We're not exactly on top form y'know?”_

“ _Cas has been up for hours, said he was fine. Yeah Cas?”_

“ _Yes. I feel surprisingly well rested despite my disturbed sleep.”_

It's Dean's turn to just turn his head and look at Cas. This time with a calculating expression.

“ _And, you should be fine with a few hours more rest. You can let Sam or I drive to start with.” “Ugh. Fine! Better be a good case.”_ He mutters as he walks from the room, blush still sitting stubbornly at the back of his neck.

The hunt turned out the be a gutsy trio of female werewolves, which is why Sam had insisted Cas come on the case. He'd figured it was werewolves from the reports of missing hearts and Cas' knife skills were not in dispute, even if he wasn't on top form. They had been particularly violent though. _**Trio of young female werewolves. Do they get PMS? Do they have**_ **urges** _ **closer to human or wolf. Do they go in to heat?**_ _ **Do they end up in sync like human females?**_ Dean could just picture any number of his female friends smacking him around the head for the insensitive way he'd approached the subject. He settled for Jodie's angry face jokingly smacking him about 'til he apologised out loud to someone who wasn't there, who's never read his musings. _“_ _I'm sorry! But it's a thought isn't it?”_ _h_ e whispered in to the silence of his room. _**Do W'wolves need to be within a few generations of the Alpha in order to breed? Why don't they all do it rather than turn a pack? - Ask Garth.**_

–

–

**Cas is a bad-ass with a blade.**

–

–

_**If it's nothing to do with Time Of The Month then why were they** **practically** **rabid? We** **r** **e they infected? Ill?** _

There had been a particularly bad stench in the place they were holed up. But it could have been anything, he'd been pretty preoccupied at the time fending off two evil wolfy bitches. Sam had been thrown through the barn wall and Cas was gamely attacking the third one. Perhaps Werewolf rabies existed. He couldn't think of anything else about this hunt that needed to be written down. He'd just come up with a load of unanswerable questions. While his pen hovers over the page, his mind wonders back to Castiel swiping his knife at the last Werewolf.

**~~Are you intending to get in to~~ I never intended to walk in on Cas stretching his wings out. Maybe I should walk around randomly coughing in future to ensure I don't find him in “compromising positions.” **


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel doesn't think he blushes. His skin can certainly heat up though leaving him squirming in discomfort and embarrassment. Dean is in the shower and Cas couldn't even be bothered to restrain the temptation when he walked up to corridor away from the record rooms, unknowingly looking for similar information to what Dean had been wondering about in the Journal.

He read the whole entry. He re-reed the whole entry. He then re-read Dean's last sentence yet again, thinking back to his own previous entry. He'd meant it entirely innocently. How had Dean twisted it? Even Cas realised that that was a stupid question. Just because he wasn't gifted with a filthy mind, Dean certainly was. He noted the date at the head of each note and personal scribble. They'd all been written yesterday, the night they'd come back from the hunt. Sam was still sleeping off his journey through a barn wall in his own bedroom. It had shaken him, but nothing too serious. Dean was scratched up, but miraculously nothing too bad either. Most of his injuries came from the splintered wood of the barn wall rather than the Werewolves. It had been full moon, but even so they had been especially rage filled, but also perhaps especially uncoordinated. And, not like the newly turned. Perhaps Dean's idea of them being ill wasn't all that foolish.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean plops down on his memory foam matress, wondering if Cas had taken the bait of an open door and obviously open Journal.

Dean's eyes go wide. His face goes white. His mouth drops open. The back of his neck goes dark red. He can't even find the words.

**I haven't heard you coughing. Perhaps I should get you a bell? Unless you wish to walk in on me?**

Dean can't find any way in which that could possibly have been a naive statement.


	12. Chapter 12

**What's with all the new creatures suddenly? Is this something to do with the Darkness? Maybe she's riling up stuff that's so old it seems new to us. And where's the bloody Darkness gone? She's a woman and a baby at the same time? There's nothing to research. She's too old.**

**Don't want a bell. Maybe you should give me advanced warning when planning something especially compromising.**

–

–

_**Wendigo-wolf.** _

_**Seriously ancient, or seriously new.** _

_**Tall. About 8ft. Scrawny limbed, but hugely strong and fast just like a Wendigo.** _

_**Different origins presumably. Think this may be a 'natural' being, rather than a turned human.** _

_**Has wolf like features. i.e. snout, hairy body. Was too dark to see colour of hair.** _

_**Doesn't slowly feed from victims. Gobbles. Messily.** _

_**Do not know feeding routine.** _

_**Flame thrower made it angry. Decapitation seemed to do the trick. Used a silver tipped blade though, don't know if this had an effect. Didn't show any particular reaction other than what you'd expect from decapitation. Iron didn't hurt it. Salt annoyed it. Guns didn't touch it.** _

_**Salt & burn remains.** _

_**Probably best to take this out with a big team. Three of us was not really enough.** _

Cas knew what he meant. He'd taken a heavy gouge right across his belly, cutting down through muscle. Sam had a dislocated shoulder and numerous cuts and slashes across him. Dean had come out of it surprisingly well again. He'd jumped on the things back and received deep scores up his back either side of his spine. He'd managed to hold a machete to the things neck whilst up there though, and had just hung on, pulling the knife steadily back towards his torso. He'd looked like a slaughter house when he was done, with the stench of burning Windigo-Wolf clinging to him from it's barbecued flesh. But, he'd slid in to the Impala after a quick apology to her for the mess, with a huge grin on his face. It had been fluke really. But then, it seemed to Cas, that many of the wins on hunts were.

Cas was all but better from the Attack Dog spell by this point, and felt well enough to heal him self effortlessly and his friends with a little more drain to his Grace. The blood pouring from Dean's back was staunched, and, after helping Sam pop his shoulder back in, he helped sooth the muscles and tendons there. Dean had driven about a third of the way home when the adrenaline high completely left his system with terrifying speed. Sam had to help him out of the driver's seat and couldn't be bothered dragging the all but unconscious man around to the other side of the car, so decided to just dump him in the back seat next to Cas. Cas, weary from healing Sam and Dean, drifted off in to his healing, sleep-like trance. Dean with no one awake to support his own sleeping form, slumped down in the seat until his head came to rest on Cas' thigh. Cas had woken a number of times of the long drive, once stationary at dawn with Sam asleep in the front of the car. Each time Dean was still gently breathing, sleeping through the night his head resting on Cas' lap. Cas had felt happy about this for some reason.

**You want advanced warning of when I am to get in to especially compromising positions, and you won't wear a bell? I can only assume you do intend to walk in on me.**

Cas smirks. He's not stupid, he knows exactly what he's saying to Dean. He wonders when on earth an accidental innuendo turned in to flirting via post-it note. Because that's all he can call this. And yet he and Dean are entirely normal around each other. They haven't mentioned the book out loud. They've never alluded to any of the conversations since the need to heal Dean's Shifter wounds. And why is he even doing this- this flirting? Sure, when he was crazy he may have felt the inexplicable need to show Dean the bees he'd befriended, and for some reason it had only felt right showing them to Dean on his car, naked. But he'd been insane. Although he does recall the look on Dean's face. Surprise yes, of course, but, had there been...interest? No. Don't be stupid. And then, Dean had refused to let him go in Purgatory. He'd stopped trying to kill Dean despite Naomi's mind control when Dean had said he needed him.

Shit.

He looks at the note he's written. If Dean takes it the wrong way, well it's only stupid notes being written in Dean's own style as a joke right? If Dean continues to reply…?


	13. Chapter 13

“ _Cas?”_

“ _Dean.”_

Cas was sitting in his room reading one of the Men Of Letter's books on Angels. He'd been working through the selection, steadily trying to find something about archangels that he didn’t already know, that could point to how they locked the darkness away. So far, he'd come up with nothing that had been of help. Dean could even see where Cas had felt compelled to make some corrections in the margins.

“ _Cas about that note you wrote….”_

“ _Yes, dean?”_

Cas' face was blank, but something was going on behind his eyes. Dean couldn’t tell what. Cas' poker face was too good. They ought to teach him how to play.

Dean didn't know what to say really. It was getting out of hand really wasn’t it? I mean Cas is one bad ass angel in a fight, but... and he has some seriously cool angel mojo powers...but still. His judgement may not always be spot on, but he always tries to do what's right. He's good fun to be around, even if sometimes he's just a good source for jokes. And, he may be addicted to coffee, and maybe he can drink a liquor shop, and he was a hilariously bad liar most of the time, but really… He's loyal, caring. He's been one of the few constants in Deans life. I mean, the weird little dude was knowledgeable, naive, he loves bad TV, has no social subtly, he's kinda hot--- What?

Three thoughts rear their heads in the midst of Deans internal monologue, his eyes still trained on Cas.

1\. Cas. Hot? What? What the hell?

2\. Cas is clearly more than just _kinda_ hot.

3\. You've talked your self out of stopping this stupid post-it flirting in your private journal haven't you Dean?

Oh crap.

“ _Ya know what cas? Never mind.”_

He turns on his heel and leaves Cas' room, a dull red flush rising up the back of his neck. He decides that returning to his room might just be a good idea.


	14. Chapter 14

Cas looks up from his reading when dean slips around the door. Despite being brave enough to face any and all monsters, angels, demons or witches, he can't bring himself to say what’s instantly on the tip of his tongue “this is your idea of a compromising position to walk in on, Dean?” Too scared.

Then he hears the tone of Deans voice as he asks Cas' name. His heart sinks, but he remains careful to stop his features shifting. That is not a good tone of voice. Definitely not the cocky, playful dean he'd hoped to be confronted by, should the necessity arise. Crap. Is this where dean tells him he's over stepped the mark? Did he go too far? Time to pull the “just jokes” line out?

Dean mentions the note. Oh God. But. Then he stalls. A myriad of emotions play over Deans sharply defined features and curiously soft looking lips.

Where did that thought come from?

Cas just remains silent, awaiting the crushing blow that dean incontrovertibly does not wish to continue their ludicrous post-it note flirting. Cas isn't even sure he does want to continue it himself. Up until a few weeks ago dean had been his hunter friend. He'd do pretty much anything for the man, yes, but he hadn't had any impure thoughts about him. Since those silly notes, foolish thoughts keep popping up, like noticing deans lips, how bright his smile is, how confident he is with any weapon, how intelligent he is, how hard it is not to smile at him when he stands in boxers and his bath robe furiously thinking with a blush rising up the back of with neck.

Cas internally rolls his eyes at him self. Dean is his friend! His straight, male friend. This has got to stop.

Dean mumbles something almost incoherent, and marches out the door, leaving Cas to stare at his retreating back for a second. His mouth drops open. Dean didn’t tell him to stop. Maybe he should stop looking looking for Dean's comments in his journal anyway. But he won't will he? After that- that blush? He needs to see what Dean will write next.

Sam’s voice comes ringing down the corridor half a chapter of Castiel's book later.

“ _Guys? Wanna go hunt some witches?”_

Dean and Cas both poke their heads put of their respective doors. _“OK!”_ They yell back in unison. They look at each other, catch each others eyes. Dean looks pale, flushed and bright eyed, like he...like maybe he was the one who was caught in a compromising position?


	15. Chapter 15

Sam’s vision is going black round the edges, but Dean doesn't know this.

Sam hauls Cas' inert form out of the impala first and in to the motel room, but Dean isn’t aware.

Sam grunts as he, all but blind and numb with fatigue, drags Dean in to the room and drops him on the bed. Dean is blessedly ignorant.

Sam staggers back across the room and drops on to the other bed, instantly unconscious.

Dean is still peacefully fast asleep, sharing a bed with the equally comatose and bespelled angel.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean feels heavy. And calm. He feels like he's just awoken from the best of sleeps. What did he get? Like, ten hours?

He shifts and rolls to his side. He smiles and the senses the presence of another body. Warmth emanating from close by. Maybe this is why he slept so well.

He slowly blinks his eyes open, clearing the night's fog from his vision. The hazy, blurry figure in front of him still has his eyes closed. Slowly swimming in to focus, a peaceful, yet slightly sad frown appears on the man’s features. There’s a soft shaft of glittering sunlight falling from the open curtain, landing on the tousle haired man next to him. The golden light highlights that dark brown mess, bringing out chestnut highlights. Dean still feels heavy, lazy, at peace. The sunlight moves slowly across Castiel's face, as it touches his closed eye lids, they flicker. He opens his eyes quickly, blinking rapidly up at the ceiling. Something makes the man aware of Dean's presence next to him. Perhaps is was the gasp he let loose when the light hit Cas' beautiful stormy blue eyes? Cas tilts his head towards dean. The frown begins to leave his eyes, replaced by a slow, shy smile. He seems too relaxed to move, so Dean does instead. They're so close he can smell the thunderstorm-aroma of the Angel. All he needs to do is roll slightly further on to his side...

A cloud of beautiful soft, golden silence seems to surround them as their lips meet for the first time. Their eyes are wide in wonder and awe and they stare at each other so close. Small smiles grace their lips as they just gently touch. Dean shifts, feeling so at ease, leaning in more, opening up his mouth. Castiel rolls his body over infinitely slowly, one arm snaking up from deans hip, to his waist, his over his arm and shoulder to curl around deans blissful looking face. Deans hand is almost caught as Cas' body slides closer, but he gently brings it up to brush over Cas' solid stomach, to rest on his waist. Their knees touch. Their lips touch. Their eyes slide happily shut.

This time it's Cas, continuing his slow roll towards deans body, who deepens the kiss even further. His mouth opens so gently, and, so slowly. He runs his tongue against deans soft and slowly moving lips. Their eyes open again briefly to gaze at each other in the glorious morning sunlight.

Their mouths meet fully with Dean tilting his head to connect to Cas' fully open, slightly swollen lips. Their tongues happily collide in a slow, and luxurious dance.

Perfectly in sync, they pull away slowly. Enjoying the feel of each other, they slowly lean in again for drawn-out, lazy, closed-mouth kisses. With a sigh from Dean, and an honest, open mouthed grin from Cas, they both roll back to stare at the ceiling.

The sun moves away from Cas' face and they start to come down from that gentle morning high.

The sound of someone shifting in another bed breaks the mood a little. Cas and Dean both sit up slowly and look across to Sam. Sam slowly sits up too, a gentle smile on his face which Dean and Cas return, until a gentle frown pulls at Deans eyes.

“ _Wasn't there a witch?”_ Dean wonders out loud. He's starting to feel a gentle nagging pain in his knees.

“ _H_ _mmm...”_ Sam hums happily back at Dean, a wide, soft eyed grin hovering on his face.

“ _But there was, wasn't there?”_ Dean slowly turns to Cas who is still smiling goofily, but also has a frown gracing his face. _“There...was?… I don_ _'_ _t remember”_

More pain starts to work it's way in to Dean. His back is aching, and a shoulder spears agony briefly down in to his chest. He goes from a beautiful, soft, morning high to crashing in to full blown hunt mode in about 1.3 seconds flat.

“ _Jesus guys! There was a witch! There were three witches! We were in that church hall! Then we went in the room where the third was doing a ritual! Me and Cas opened the door, but, but- But I don’t remember anything else.”_

Cas' features mirror Dean's pretty well by now. The soft, glowing smile having left his face, and his angry, worried frowning eyes trying to assemble facts.

“ _How did we get here?”_ Cas asks.

They both turn to Sam.

Sam is still sitting on the bed goofily looking at the two of them standing over him. _“You guys are totally my best friends._ _I_ _Love you guys”_

Dean and Cas look at each other. Turn away with looks of embarrassment on both their faces and return to Sam.

“ _The, uh, effect wore off pretty quickly on us. Maybe we'll just have to wait it out 'til we can get answers?”_

“ _Yes. I'll..um..go get coffee.”_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Witch trio** _

_**Small coven unrelated to Rowena as far as we could tell.** _

_**They were trying to bewitch the town for personal gain, and also trying to bind a demigod for further power. The two dozen sheep entrails they had to have for the spell were a bit of give-away. They were easy to find. The first two witches were in an outer room. They were dealt with quickly. Not much power. We entered the second room where he heard chanting.** _

_**Coven leader used a new spell against us.** _

_**Cas and I went in first and took the brunt of the spell work. Sam was in back-up, and we shielded him from the worst of the effects. Spell used some sort of Hex Bag, but not thrown at us or hidden. She held it in her palm and blew across it in our direction. It put me and Cas to sleep instantly.** _

_**Sam apparently managed to jump over us and knife the witch. He took her by surprise as she was gloating had hadn't noticed that the spell hadn't hit him as hard. Clearly the breath or whatever can only carry in straight lines, and not through objects or bodies. The spell on Sam took maybe an hour to take hold. The effect lasted 6-8 hours and left the sufferer with an intense feeling of lethargy, calm and happiness. Almost euphoria. This wore off after maybe 40 minutes.** _

–

–

**Can't understand why a witch would use this in her arsenal, apart from maybe date-rape.**

**\--**

**I imagine it's to make sacrifices more pliant.**

**\--**

**I guess that would make sense. Waking up on a bonfire in that state wouldn’t be terrible.**

**\--**

**Waking up in that state was ~~beauti~~ ~~lovel~~ ~~stup~~ awesome? In the literal sense, you know.**

**\--**

**Yeah, Cas. I know.**

**\--**

**You should note that the spell had an effect on Angels. That's an important thing to note isn't it?**

**\--**

**Yes, Cas. It is. But I think you've just noted it for me.**

**\--**

**I keep coming in here to talk to you, you kno-----------**

Dean coughed behind him. Crap.

“ _Well, I guess we were bound to meet at some point in here.”_

“ _Dean. I- I don't know- I'm-”_

Dean heaves a sign and sinks on to the bed pinching the bridge of his nose.

“ _You don't need to be sorry Cas. This is just messed up. That kiss-”_

“ _Was amazing?”_ Oh. God. How did he just manage to say that out loud?

“ _Huh.”_ Dean huffs a laugh _“It was. Bit chick flicky, but, yeah, great.”_ He looks up at Cas shyly. _“But, I dunno man, I mean this?”_ He gestures between the two of them _“Some stupid notes written like we're in class and a spell induced glowy kiss behind the bike sheds?”_ He shakes his head.

Cas cocks his head to one side. _“I am millennia old, and have never even been behind a bike shed, Dean. I get that this is…..non-traditional? And hardly great timing with the ancient evil roaming the earth eating souls, but spell or not, you can't deny that was...a nice experience?”_ Ugh. He meant to continue sounding annoyed, but that last thought came out as a shy question. Probably because he was feeling so unsure at the moment. Maybe Dean hadn't enjoyed it.

But, he _is_ a millennia old angel of the lord with inhuman powers and knowledge to match, and yet, he just kissed a boy, and he had more than liked it, 'glowy' enchantment or not. Best friend or not. Dean-ladies-man-totally-heterosexual-Winchester or not.

“ _H_ _uh”_ Dean laughs. _“Mostly heterosexual.”_

What? Oh crap had he said that last thought out loud? What has happened to him lately?

“ _W_ _hat?”_ he manages to get around his suddenly very dry throat.

“ _Only mostly.”_ Dean's head is hung in embarrassment, looking at the floor of his room, the back of his neck a ruddy dark red. Cas doesn't think Dean knows he blushes there.

“ _I haven't really been exactly blown away by the last few flings. I thought I'd loved Lisa, but it was surprisingly easy to let go. I missed the kid more. And to be honest, when guys have hit on me, I've been more and more interested. Women have become. I dunno. Boring? Not a challenge? Not that women are boring, although they are challenging. But the conquests y'know? It's just routine by now. Pick 'em up, love 'em, leave 'em. And, it may not always work, but it's not difficult to find a different hook up who'll be on board. I'm tired of the whole thing. But guys? That’s a whole new thing. It's difficult. Thrilling? I dunno. I just- I'm not wholly against the idea, I guess is what I'm trying to say. And, yeah, that kiss. Our kiss? That was awesome. But...I just dunno man. It's...you. And, it's me.”_

Dean signs and shakes his head. Cas sits down next to him on the edge of the bed, mimicking deans posture, elbows on knees, hands hanging clasped, but loose between them. Dean still stares at the floor, Cas stares at the wall in front of him.

Cas doesn't know what to think. Should be be more surprised that Dean opened up at all? Or that he's not entirely against the male form. Or that he doesn't have a coherent argument why their, simply astounding kiss, should be the end of it.

“ _And you know, you never stay Cas. And I'm kind done with the love 'em, leave 'em thing. I'm not sure I could take that. If you left.”_

Oh OK. That was a fairly coherent argument not to make anything of this thing going on between them.

“ _And I don’t even know what you think! Jesus man, I'm pouring out all my shit here. Can't you at least not leave me hanging here dude?”_

“ _I think that spell was just meant to take away any worry upon waking up,_ _D_ _ean. It wasn_ _'_ _t meant to make you aroused or amorous. I think we did that on our own.”_ It was Cas' turn to study the floor. _“I wouldn’t have written the notes I did if I...didn’t...feel something? I'm just still not acquainted with what that is Dean. But I liked the kiss. I'd like to do it again?”_ He made that a question and raised his eyes to Dean's surprised sideways glance.

“ _And, as to me leaving. I can't. The whole of the host is after me, Metatron and Rowena are dangerous to me on my own. If you…….don’t want to….make me leave. Again. I'd like to stay. Here. With you. And Sam. If that's OK?”_

Dean looks at him again, though his head continues tilted towards the floor, facing front. Cas is in much the same position, eyeing dean worriedly from the corner of his eye.

“ _I don't want you to leave, man. I never did. Well, taking in to account crazy Angels that is. I've wanted you here for a while.”_ Deans eyes drop back to the floor.

Relief and fear thrill through Cas' vessel as he thinks about the next step. He's slightly surprised then that he just blurts; _“OK. Now you've decided to keep me, can I kiss you again?”_

“ _uh...”_


	18. Chapter 18

The angelic bastard looks so serious. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, eyes smouldering up at in to his.

Dean hasn’t moved. Cas swung on to the floor in front of him after asking to kiss him again. What do you say to that kinda question? Admittedly 'Uh' Hadn't exactly been poetic, but he just still wasn't sure. Is this a transient thing? Will they fuck and then never talk again? Will Cas stay? Does he want to be boyfriend to another boy? If you can call a millennia old Angel a boy. It's like calling a mountain a grassy knoll.

Dean's body gets bored of listening to it's own litany and, short-cutting his brain, leans down even further to meet Cas' upturned lips with his own.

Dean gets a second, and now, un-bespelled, blast of the ozone-thunderstorm smell and taste of the Angel's mouth. That. That could get addictive. His eyes flutter shut and he lets himself just feel the other man pressed up against his mouth. Hot tongue swiping slowly against his own. Gentle movements of his jaw. Scratchy stubble meeting his own, sending a shiver down his neck and back. The sound of Cas' unnecessary breathing mingling with his own. The beautiful and short lived groan escaping Cas' throat sending vibrations right in to Dean's lips. The adorable curve of Cas' own lips as he breaks the kiss with a shy smile.

They hadn't even touched each other, except at the mouth, and Dean's heart is racing.

Dean's obnoxiously loud ring tone goes off. He can't break eye contact though, Cas' gaze has sucked him in again.

“ _You should get that.”_ Cas smiles at him. _“I'm going to-”_

Cas gets up and leaves without finishing his sentence. Dean blinks and reaches to grab his phone.

“ _yeah?”_

“ _It's me. What kinda pizza you want?”_


	19. Chapter 19

**So. I've been wondering what sort of compromising positions an Angel can even get in to.**

Cas' laughs to himself.

**As have I.**

He hears footsteps moving down the hall. He can either stay in here and be caught by Dean, which wouldn't be a bad thing… Or it's possibly Sam. In which case, he should also stay in here, then hope he'll just move on.

Two knocks on the door and Sam's face appears around the door.

“ _Dean I- Cas? What are you doing in here? Where's Dean?”_

He looks suspicious. Crap. _“I was just looking for him myself. Wanted more details on the appearance of the Darkness as she first appeared to Dean.”_

“ _Oh. OK. Erm. Well, maybe he's-”_

“ _I'm here. What are you all doing in my room? Jeez, privacy guys!”_

“ _Sorry-” “Sorry Dean.”_

“ _Yeah.”_ Dean looks from the mildly annoyed expression on Sam's face to the mildly guilty look on Cas' face. He pulls a half smile. _“Right. So why am I suddenly so popular?”_

“ _Cas wanted to get more info. on the Darkness, and I wanted to let you know about a possible hunt just a town over.”_

“ _OK. What's the hunt?”_

“ _Demons.”_

“ _Super. And the info you want?”_

“ _A detailed description of the appearance of the Darkness when she first manifested to you?”_

Dean cocks an eyebrow at Cas' clearly false question. They'd gone over this before.

“ _Right. It's late already. If I need to give Cas a detailed description, that may take some time. Let's leave first thing in the morning for the demons yeah?”_

“ _Yeah. OK Dean. Cas. Uh. I'm going to pack then sleep then.”_

Cas wonders if Sam has noticed how utterly guilty and shifty he's feeling. Thankfully he'd thought to hide Dean's journal under the covers of his bed when he'd heard the footsteps. He's learning the particular cadence of each of the brothers tread as they make their way along the empty, echoing corridors now, but he still isn't familiar enough to guess correctly every time.

Sam leaves with a frown on his face, and a look over his shoulder at the two of them standing awkwardly in the room together.

When he's sure Sam is out of ear shot, Dean asks; _“Where is it?”_

Cas look guiltily up from the floor. _“Under the bed covers.”_ He's feeling guilty, worried, optimistic and anxious about both the reactions from Sam earlier, and Dean now.

Dean takes the blue bound book out from under the end of the bed and flicks to the page he knew he'd written his ridiculously suggestive comment in. Cas watches his mossy green eyes drop to the three little words Cas had left on his trademark pink post-it.

Dean breaks out in to full throated laughter.

“ _I'm pretty certain you just found me in one actually. Although I realise it's not quite what either of us meant.”_

“ _Oh man, that's brilliant!”_ Dean continues to laugh around his words. _“_ _Com'ere”_

Cas' eyes go wide. What?

“ _Seriously, Cas. Lock that door and come here.”_ He's smiling widely.

“ _Come on! I've been convinced for a while that I'm interested in guys too, that you know. You've had me convinced for a while that I'm interested in Angels, especially best-friend Angels who can make me laugh like that! Jeez man. Shut the door and let me compromise you a little huh?”_

“ _Screw you Dean. Shut your own damn door.”_ Why is he reacting like this?! Why is he standing stock still refusing to give in to Dean's advances? Why are his cheeks burning hot with embarrassment?

“ _Ha!”_ Dean barks out. _“If you insist.”_ Dean moves towards Cas, leaning in front of his field of vision to close and lock the door. _“But, I though we could start a little easier for the both of us. Hand-job maybe?”_

Cas' eyes go, if it's possible, even wider. His head jerks up and his gaze meets Deans, his mouth hanging open a little. Dean's face is surprisingly less cock-sure than Cas had presumed it would be. He actually looks a little worried that Cas will reject him after all. And, Cas wonders if he will. If he should. Even after all their post-it flirting, they've done little of it for real. Only two kisses. And hardly another word said about it. Mostly they're researching, hunting, or watching a never ending parade of films that Cas knows every word to in their newly furnished entrance hall. Although he and Dean always share the sofa leaving the singular chair for Sam to stretch out in. They take care to touch as little as possible. He really doesn't want to ruin this newly found trust they seem to have re-built since Rowena cured him of the Attack Dog spell. He sighs deeply, returning his eyes to the floor.

“ _I don't want to ruin our frien-”_

“ _Dude. Our friendship is already ruined. When you kissed me the second time. I stopped thinking of you as just a friend there and then, man. I-”_ Cas' eyes track him raising a hand to the back of his neck. _“I'm sick of dancing around this. If we fuck up, then we fuck up. But man- You know I don't talk about feelings- I wanna give this a try- maybe we'll just have to_ make _it work. I dunno man, balls in your court.”_

Cas doesn't say anything. Dean has essentially summed up his own thoughts perfectly. Dean is studying the floor of his room intently with that dull flush covering the back of his neck, arms now wrapped about his chest, shoulders hunched. Cas takes two extremely brave steps and pushes his lips against Dean's as his hands curl around either side of the man's handsome face.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean can feel the hideous heat of rejection, embarrassment and dashed hopes basically drop out through his stomach to be replaced by an almost equally uncomfortable hot bubble of happiness and anticipation in his chest.

He grins against Cas' lips moving with his own. He has to break the kiss to laugh in joy. _“Really?! You sure?” “No. But-”_ Cas leans in to kiss him again. _“I want to give this a try too.”_ Dean feels a ripple of pleasure work it's way down his belly to his groin. He wraps his hands around Cas back drawing him closer. The man’s flat, strong chest and belly a contrast to what he usually experiences, but it's _Cas_. And, finally getting to hold this man, this Angel, who has raised him and ruined him. Who has been almost closer to him than Sam at times, and also a distant and untrustworthy dick. Who has been linked with him in ways beyond his ability to understand since before the day he stabbed him in the chest, in a barn, filled with fear. He realises that this is the culmination of all that. It's either make or break at this point, but he's pretty damn sure he's going to do all in his power to _make_ it work, and, it's totally gonna be worth it.

Dean savours that thunderstorm taste of Cas, smoothing his hands up and down the other man’s back. One reaches to the back of Cas' head, tangling his fingers through the thick dark hair, the other travels down to curve around his firm ass. Cas still had one hand curled around his cheek, the other had dropped to his chest, hand flat against his heart. He tilts his head up further, taking advantage of his slightly lesser height to push up against Dean's mouth, deepening their kiss, his tongue wrapping around Dean's, mapping out his mouth.

Dean takes a step backwards, towards the bed, dragging Cas off balance a little. Cas, stoic and stubborn as ever refuses to break their kiss. His off-balance momentum pushes them the next step back until Dean's knees give out against the end of the bed where he sits down with an undignified thump. Cas has to let go his hold, snorting amusement at their uncoordinated efforts thus far. Dean looks up wryly at him. _“Seriously dude, as if this isn't weird enough for me, for us, already! You have to go and laugh at me?” “Um-”_ Cas rolls his eyes to the ceiling as if in thought. _“Yes.”_ He grins and kneels on the bed, straddling Dean's lap. Dean leans back on his arms with Cas' hands on his shoulders, he can feel a look of bemusement, astonishment and arousal cross his face, but he doesn't try to school his features. Pushy Cas is hot!

Dean looks down when he feels Cas' hands move. They inch down his chest moving his un-done shirt off his shoulders tracing his fingers against where the hand print scar had all but completely faded from his skin. Dean looks up to Cas' features, gone all doe eyed and soft with his own arousal. Dean leans forward to kiss Cas deeply again, taking their combined weight off his arms. Cas slips the shirt completely off Dean's arms and glides his hands down over the planes of Dean's chest where the newer shifter-scars were also all but gone under his t-shirt. They drift lower to his slightly soft belly, tucking up under the plain black shirt and gently tugging it up and off, breaking their kiss, over Dean's head. Cas' smile is only just barely there, but to Dean, it lights up his face. His eyes are wide, intent. Dean imagines his face looks very similar.

Cas' turns his attention to where his hands are stroking back down Dean's chest, over the anti-possession tattoo. The guy sighs. Seriously. _“What?”_ Dean huffs, smiling. Cas looks up at him with a worried, yet almost adoring expression. _“I think I've just realised how long I've wanted this...”_ God-damn the dude looks so worried, like Dean's about to throw him off and out. _“And, how long is that?”_ Dean grins, leaning further forward to press kisses to Cas' neck, the delicate part just under his ear. Cas squirms. _“Dean! About five minuets, ass-butt!”_ Dean throws his head back, giving up torturing the poor guy, and laughs out loud. _“You're the ass-butt.”_ He says going back in for another kiss, grin still plastered on his face. _“Can I take that stupid coat off you yet man?”_ He whispers against Cas' mouth. The man still straddling his lap just smiles and sits up enough to let Dean move his arms to his shoulders to slide the trench coat off on to the floor. His suit jacket quickly follows, and Dean's surprisingly tender hands move to his chest to undo the buttons on his crisp white shirt. Dean moves down each button, taking his time, focusing intently on each small white disc of plastic hiding the Angels chest from his view. The guy's immaculately pale skin comes in to view, inch by inch as Dean moves his hands further down nearing the waist band of Cas' trousers. Dean looks up with an eyebrow quirked, asking permission. Cas smiles, nods and leans in to kiss the base of Dean's neck, hardly giving Dean room to manoeuvre, and none at all to see what he's doing.

Dean, fiddling blindly for the button on Cas' trousers decides to take advantage of Cas' current preoccupation with gently kissing and nosing at the skin of his collar bone. He leans back flat on the bed, dragging Cas with him, on top of him. Cas, the smooth fucker, doesn't even break his ministrations, just taking his hands from Deans side and back and resting one against the bed to support himself.

The shift in position makes something abundantly obvious to Dean. They're both pretty thoroughly aroused by this point, Dean wonders how he'd missed Cas' erection while trying to unbutton his trousers. Dean gives up the attempt in favour of rolling his hips upwards in to Cas'. The gasp this evicts sends a thrill of pleasure down his spine. Cas' voice has gone even more throaty Dean notices when he suddenly sits up and declares _“off!”_ Cas' hands move to his own fly and Dean hurries to mimic him. Cas flips off him on to his back to quickly pull off his trousers and underwear, kick off his shoes and toe of his socks. He shuffles back on the bed while Dean struggles with his button fly. He remains in that lying on his back, dick proudly jutting in to the air above him, while he watches Dean toe off his boots and pull his jeans off with a little struggle against the stiff fabric.

Dean, suddenly realises he's completely naked in his bedroom with an equally, beautifully, naked Castiel. Damn, that Angel _is_ beautiful. He was right, men were definitely more tantalising to him just now. Or maybe it was just the suddenly scruffy haired Angel lying in his back watching him, with the straining hard-on. Yeah. Probably just Cas that was so tantalising. Damn.

He bends on to all fours on the bed and crawls up the blankets to Cas' naked form, and he just can't help himself. He's almost always praised the bodies of those he sleeps with, taking comfort in the mutual trust that the coupling brings him. But, this is different. For one, he's never done this with a guy, well, Angel, but with a male body under him. It's fascinating and new. He kisses Cas' ankle, brushes his lips up the other man’s calf with it's light dusting of dark hair. He kisses the inside of Cas' knee, working his way over the strong, muscular thigh to the outside of the man’s sharp and narrow hip. He gently licks at the dent on the inside of his hipbone, above the soft scruff of pubic hair. Cas' cock is so close to him, but he ignores it for now. He's slightly nervous of going there, but mostly he wants to drive Cas wild, and he wants to get a chance to discover every part of the man’s body before focusing in on providing _that_ pleasure. Cas' breathing is heavy and slightly quick, he's watching every move Dean makes. When Dean looks up and catches his eye the Angel gasps like he's never experienced anything so good before. Huh. Maybe he hasn't. One weirdly a-sexual relationship with a wife as an amnesiac and a roll in the hay with a psycho reaper. He doubts any one _has_ worshipped this Angel so intimately. And worship him, he really does.

He kisses a path up Cas' treasure trail ending by licking at the guys navel. Cas is smiling, which shoots pure pleasure to his own groin. He grins back wickedly. Dean swings his leg over Cas' own so that he's the one straddling now. He lines up their swollen erections and leans over to kiss at Cas' neck and chest, sucking, biting and licking ever so gently. Cas' back arched up against the feeling of their cocks meeting. Their hardness providing gentle friction as Dean rolls against Cas' elevated hips.

Much to Sam's beliefs to the contrary, Dean was not a particularly verbal lover. The casual fucks that Sam had managed to walk in on aside, Dean tended to keep all his chat for the lead up, not the act. That wasn't to say _noises_ didn't escape his lips. Their dicks, rubbing clumsily against each other, elicited a groan from him at the glorious hot feeling thrumming in side of him. Leaning back a little at the almost grunted _“Aaah-”_ that Cas' lets out, he can't help but smile. He wants to make Cas make more of those noises. That has no right to be such a turn on. His dick is already so hard, almost painful, every touch against Cas' sends electric sparks up his spine, and builds that reservoir of buzzing heat in his abdomen.

Leaning close and heavily against Cas, making them both groan deep, he goes for a final kiss, trying to taste every inch of inside Cas' mouth, before moving off the man.

He slides down the bed, on his side, hitched up on one elbow, his mouth hovering over Cas' perfect dick. He can't help it, he licks his lips. The view was not intimidating, but glorious. The smell and taste of Castiel usually made him think of the electric heat of thunderstorms. But, his pale shaft and red head, dark pubes and the pre-come steadily leaking from the slit reminded him of that musky scent of cold rain hitting hot tarmac. This was another thing that was going to become addictive.

Dean leans in and licks the pre-come from Cas' head, eliciting a _“Jesus!”_ Dean looks up shocked. The Angel, _Angel,_ blasphemes? That. Is. Awesome. Cas' hands are clutched in the blanket on the bed, he looks down at Dean. _“More.”_ He gets out in a strangled groan as his head drops back on to the pillow. How can Dean refuse? As he lowers his mouth again and licks a hard stripe up Cas' cock he wonders why he isn't freaking out about this. It's not like he's even been _here_ with a guy before. But Cas tastes of salty, bitter, hot, angry raindrops on heat shimmered roads. And, it's Cas. And, he wants to make the man groan out loud again. And, it's shaping up to be the most excited he's been to go down on anyone, ever before. He figured he's had enough blow jobs to know what to do, so opening up he takes Cas' head in to his mouth, ever so gently rubbing his teeth against the swollen tip, then swiping his tongue in to the slit, all the while sucking softly.


	21. Chapter 21

Cas flung his eyes wide open. Never. Never before had he imagined that sex would be _this_ good. His previous experimentation had been good, no doubt, (apart from the getting killed afterwards part,) and being human at the time, it had felt different; more and less intense at the same time. But this, _this,_ feeling was mind blowing. He could feel every taste bud on Deans tongue as it moved across his heavy erection. The enormity of the sensation as Dean slid his mouth down as far as he could; he could feel his tip touching the very back of Deans mouth, knew the feel of Dean's lips, taut, wrapped around his shaft. He could sense the whorls of deans finger tips as the rubbed at what the man's mouth couldn't reach. Oh sweet fucking Christ! It was almost unbearable how good this felt. He looked down, could see Dean's head slowly shifting up and down. He needed to touch Dean. He laced his fingers in to the short dirty-blond hair, swiping his thumb across the man's beautifully defined cheek bone. He could start to feel an only slightly familiar sensation building low in his belly. Like a spring being coiled.

Dean was alternating between sucking and licking exclusively at the obviously flushed head of his dick, and dropping in to fierce, hard, slow sucks up and down his whole length, flicking at his slit with his tongue on every up stoke. Even with so little experience, he new that he wouldn't last long until his release, but he wanted this to continue for ever. This bright, caring and brave man made him feel beyond anything an Angel was supposed to feel. And, it was astounding.

Suddenly he couldn't help it. He couldn't remain still or quiet. Groaning out breathy little pants he started rocking his hips up and down slightly in time with Dean's movements. Dean moved a hand from the bed to his hip, putting only a little weight against him, whilst redoubling his efforts, sucking harder, but moving slower. Cas, whilst fully able to ignore the pressure Dean put on his hip, understood the meaning behind it, and concentrated on not bucking up in to Dean's hot, wet mouth too much. His free hand clenched deeply in the blanket, his back arched, that hot coil exquisitely tightening.

“ _Oh God. Fuck. Dean. I'm gong to- Fuck! Aaahh… Shit!”_

He felt the coil release abruptly, felt his hot seed fill deans mouth around his still hard cock. Dean just carried on sucking at him, encouraging every last spurt of come out with every restrained thrust that Cas made up in to his mouth. Dean kept his caressing tongue against him until he was soft and entirely satisfied, every muscle in his body sated. He felt boneless with a lazy smile plastered on his face.

“ _You look too smug for someone who's yet to do any work”_ Dean's rumbled. Cas smirked up at him, and pushed up to capture Dean's lips. He could taste himself, although it mostly tasted like molecules. It still made a thrum of pleasure dart through him knowing that it's was in Dean's mouth he could 'taste' it. He managed to push him self up on an elbow and roll Dean on to his back, almost underneath him. Still kissing this human who'd entirely changed not only his existence, but who he fundamentally was, he snaked his hand down his body, feeling every knick and scar, each perfect imperfection telling a story of this man's life. He reached Dean's dark pubic hair and tangled his hand in it softly first. Dean arched up in to the touch. He gently ran his fingers up and down his shaft, pausing at the tip, rubbing his thumb over the head and dipping in to the slit.

Breaking off the kiss to let the man under him, the man with the surprisingly soft lips, take a few deep breaths. When Dean's eyes are trained on his, Green staring up at him, he grips Dean's straining dick firmly. Dean practically whines in pleasure, his eyes closing abruptly. It's one of the most beautiful sounds Cas has ever heard. Kissing at Dean's neck and chest, he starts a slow rhythm, drawing from his singular experience up 'til now. He leans back up, taking in Deans expression of pleasure. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth slightly open, panting deeply now. Castiel speeds up slightly, watching Dean's flushed features. How do humans get anything done? _“Cas-”_ Dean strangles off. His hips starting up buck up in to Cas' hand. Dean's eyes fly wide open to meet Cas' again. Their eye contact, always intense, just seems to connect them soul deep at this moment. He speeds up further, occasionally swiping his thumb across Dean's swollen head. Cas realises he's panting in time with Dean as the man's hips continue to push upwards, trying to make the most of the friction provided. Suddenly the man’s back arches as his hips stutter out of rhythm _“Aaahh- Ah- Uuh- Mmmhhu- Cas!”_ The last word was whispered almost reverently as the last spurts of his release dribbled down the outside of Cas' fist, still wrapped around his now softening member. Dean's eyes open again to gaze blissfully at the man who'd just brought him to orgasm.

As they wrap themselves around each other in Dean's bed they are blissfully unaware of Sam hurrying past the closed door, rolling his eyes emphatically to the ceiling.


	22. Chapter 22

Dean swipes the sponge over the windscreen of the Impala again. It's the second time he's washed his baby, and every other vehicle in the garage, since his night with Cas. It's been a week, and nothing interesting (apart from, y'know, another night of truly awesome experimentation spent with Cas,) had happened until this morning, when Cas had a breakthrough in some research on the Darkness. 

Sam walks in and grabs a sponge to help clean the car whilst breaking in to Dean's thoughts with:

_“Dude, what's up with the shorts?”_  
“It's a free bunker.”  
“Any other leads than those Cas found?”  
“Nope. I'm starting to get cabin fever here.”  
“Well, I may have found us a case. I mean, it's thin-”  
“Hey, thin works. Tell me on the way.” 

They leave Cas in the bunker to continue his research while they go off in the now gleaming Impala to sort the milk run of a lone werewolf a few day's drive away.


End file.
